


Unstuck

by jamtoday



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: fragment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-24 19:18:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4932097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamtoday/pseuds/jamtoday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A fragment, to be used in a larger story</p>
    </blockquote>





	Unstuck

**Author's Note:**

> A fragment, to be used in a larger story

[...]

Ichabod triangulates towards the sound of the voice shouting for help. She comes into focus as he approaches -- small, with dark braids coiled around her head. Something about her seems familiar. She is on the ground, perhaps having tripped, scrabbling away from him and trying to get up. He reaches her, extending his hand.

She glances behind her and begins to scream.

“Chess!” she calls. “CHESS!”

A voice deeper in the woods calls back, “Grace!” 

Ichabod hears the crash of footsteps running through the underbrush. A second woman emerges -- tall, with loose curls pulled back in a ponytail, but with a resemblance to her smaller companion. A thought comes to Ichabod and flits away just as fast.

“Chess, help me!” the smaller woman shouts.

“Madam,” Ichabod says, in as calming a voice as he can manage under the circumstances, “I am here to assist, I assure you. I present no danger!”

The second woman levels her weapon at him, a crossbow with a laser sight. Ichabod notes a bead drawn on his chest. He looks her in the eyes and feels a shock of the familiar. Her face reflects his own surprise, and the weapon drops several inches. She breathes out heavily.

“Daddy?”

The smaller woman goes silent at her companion’s question. She turns over and reaches for Ichabod’s outstretched hand. She grabs it and

 

the young woman and her companion are gone. The park is quiet save for the sounds of birds and the rustle of breeze through the treetops. Abbie stands before Ichabod, holding onto his hand.

“Crane. CRANE!” she says. “You ok?”

Ichabod gapes at her, at a rare loss for words. He shakes his head as if to shake off a blow to the face. His mouth is dry.

“Leftenant,” he finally stammers out.

“Crane, you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Abbie says. A beat. “ _Have_ you seen a ghost?”

Not exactly, Leftenant,” he answers. “I saw… two young ladies, one who resembled... my mother.”

“You think she was your mother?”

“No, Leftenant. Quite the opposite. She called me ‘Daddy’”

Abbie makes an incredulous noise and raises her eyebrows at him.

“Crane, how many mystery kids do you have? Was this one with Katrina too and when did that happen? Or maybe her mother was Betsy Ross? Or Martha Washington, this time?”

Icahbod pauses. He knows this will sound ridiculous, even by the standards he and Abbie have become used to. 

“These women were not from my past,” he said. “I believe...I believe they were from my future.”

“You think you saw the future?” Abbie asks.

“I believe we occupied the same space at different times,” Ichabod replies. He assumes the position of a man on a roll: “It is rather the inverse of a phenomenon described by one Kurt Vonnegut in his utterly perplexing novel _The Sirens of --_ ”

Abbie cuts him off before another exposition on the deficiencies of modern culture can take root.

“What makes you think this, and not just a case of mistaken identity? Not,” she murmurs as an aside, “that anyone would easily mistake you for anyone else.”

“Because, Leftenant,” Crane begins, pausing as he feels his cheeks redden and his throat begin to constrict. “Because the other woman looked just like _you._ ”

[...]


End file.
